A Very Supernatural Birthday
by nightgigjo
Summary: January 24, 2009: Bobby calls the boys in to investigate. / Gift!fic for BatBratScorp. Complete and utter fluff.


Sam awoke to Dean's phone blaring a familiar guitar riff. With a groan, he cracked open one eye. The first light of dawn was just beginning to glow through the gap in the heavy drapes in the motel room window. It wouldn't be bright enough to shine through the dingy orange-and-brown chevrons for at least another hour. Considering they'd finally crashed sometime after 4 a.m., Sam was rather more inclined to hurl the phone at his brother than answer it.

He blinked blearily, then got up, just in time for the phone to quit ringing. Cursing to himself, he flopped back down on his stomach onto the bed.

Dean's phone went off again.

A light snore was still coming from Dean's rumpled bed, where he was scrunched up under the covers, burrowed in the hideous polyester bedspread that evidently blocked sound as well as light. Sam didn't get up again, but reached across the gap between the hotel beds to give his brother a rough prod with the ball of his foot.

"Dean. Phone." he grumbled into his pillow.

His brother woke with a loud snort. "Wha? Whassat?"

"PHONE."

Disoriented, Dean fumbled for the phone, dropping it twice before he managed to flip it open. "Yeah," he drawled into the receiver.

"Aren't either of you idjits up yet?" Bobby's voice growled over the line.

"Jesus, Bobby," Dean grumbled, "we just pulled into town about two-"

"-three-" Sam supplied.

"-three hours ago."

"You princesses need your beauty sleep, huh?" Dean almost could hear Bobby's eyes roll. "Why don't you girls go get a couple lattes and git yer asses over here."

Dean was on the alert in an instant. "Why, what's up?" He signaled to his younger brother to get up, but Sam was already pulling on some clothes.

There was a short silence. "I got something you need to see."

Sam's phone vibrated as he slipped it into his pocket. It was a text from Bobby. _The big one, _it said. _Get Cas._

* * *

><p>It took some convincing, but Dean finally "prayed". Before he'd gotten half of the first snide comment out of his mouth, Castiel popped out of nowhere, about a foot behind him. "What do you want?" he asked, in a monotone that barely betrayed the question.<p>

Sam was the first to speak up. "We need your help," he said, "with something at Bobby's place."

The angel frowned slightly, hints of disapproval in his eyes. "Do you know what it is?"

Dean shook his head, but Sam cut in. "Bobby said it was the big one," he shrugged. "Whatever that means."

Castiel raised his chin in thought, then began to nod slowly. "I," he said slowly, looking uncertainly from brother to brother, "have something to do," and popped out of existence again.

"Great", Dean complained. "If Bobby wants this guy's help, he'll have to put him on a leash." He wrenched his face in annoyance as he got behind the wheel of the Impala. He revved the engine, then turned to frown at Sam. "You get to tell Bobby the angel bailed."

"Me? Why me?"

"Because," Dean said with a smug grin," 'cause I'm older, that's why."

* * *

><p>About fifteen minutes later, the Impala pulled up outside of Bobby's repair shop in a cloud of frosty dust. Dean pulled a sawed-off shotgun from the trunk as Sam loped up to the front door. His expression was apologetic, and Dean could tell Sam was getting something of a dressing-down for the news about Castiel's abrupt departure.<p>

"Come on in," Bobby was saying as Dean caught up to his lanky younger brother. "I've got it in the panic room."

The brothers exchanged half-worried looks as they followed Bobby down to the iron-bound, salt drenched chamber, where Bobby could keep just about any spirit or demon in or out. He turned to Dean and Sam as they approached the door. "There's something in there," he said, face inscrutable, "that wasn't in there last night."

Dean peered in the one small window into the room, and scowled. "A trunk? Someone broke into... into the panic room, andleft something behind?"

"Looks like," Bobby replied. "Thought I'd better get you boys here, before I opened it."

Sam looked worried. "Is it safe, do you think? Opening it, I mean."

Bobby's eyes shifted nervously. "Probably not," he admitted. "That's why I called you boys here, in case whatever's in there is... too much."

"You're not doing this, Bobby," Sam admonished. "I'll do it," he said, and made a move towards the door.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean bellowed, gripping Sam's shoulder and turning him around. "If anyone goes in there to open that box, it's me."

"But Dean," Sam argued, but he wasn't hearing it. Dean just gave him his best 'I'm the big brother' stare and stood with his back to the door, arms crossed over his chest.

"Okay, fine," Sam acquiesced at last. "Have it your way."

With a little more trepidation than he cared to let on, Dean cautiously spun the lock open, pushed the door to the panic room open, and stepped inside. The box - almost a cask, really - was worn wood, bound in leather and brass. It was latched closed, but not locked. Throwing his brother a side glance, Dean readied himself to open it. Nodding a silent countdown, both Winchesters whirled back to either side of the box as Dean threw the lid open.

In the resulting silence, Bobby started to laugh. Dean turned to stare at him, open-mouthed, certain that the old grouch was possessed by a demon. The eyes that looked back at them were as blue as usual, and crinkled with mirth.

"Go on, look in the box," he said, chuckling. "Happy birthday!"

Dean peered inside. "What in the hell is this?" he said, brandishing a white paper box with a shiny red and gold seal.

A slight gust of air blew through the room, and Castiel reappeared. "I believe it is called...pie."

"You'll thank me for it," Bobby said with a wry grin. "Best in several states. And several states over. But Cas was good enough to run get it for ya."

Dean only stood, dumbfounded, staring at the paper container in his hands. Running his thumbnail through the foil label, he gently lifted the lid, revealing a perfectly browned latticework top crust, with syrup the color of wine bubbling up through the open squares.

"I..." he croaked, "I don't know what to say."

Sam's face broke into a grin. "How about 'where's the ice cream?' "

Dean's guffaw came from his toes. "Now you're talkin'!"


End file.
